A Professional Liar
by Just a Steel Magnolia
Summary: “I’m fine.” Since Jin, Mike, and he had been pulled from the pit, how many times had Sawyer already said these same words? Sawyer Libby Sequel companion to A Professional Opinion.


Title: A Professional Liar

Author: Steel Magnolia

Rating: T (Adult language)

Pairing: Sawyer and Libby

Spoilers: Up to Season 2, "Abandoned."

Summary: Sawyer keeps repeating the same lie.

Warnings: Strong language, after all it IS Sawyer

Status of fic: Completed

Author's note: This is the second in the "Professional" series. While the story stands on its own, it is a companion piece to "A Professional Opinion." Many thanks to _mrstater_ for the beta!

DISCLAIMER: All characters, plot, and locations are the property of executive producers J.J. Abrams, Damon Lindelof, Touchstone Television, and the folks at ABC. The following story is a work of fan fiction and in no way intended for profit or to infringe upon the rights of the creators and producers of "Lost." 

**A Professional Liar **

"I'm fine." Since Jin, Mike, and he had been pulled from the pit, how many times had he already said these same words? Sawyer had lost count, but he was certain of one thing. No one, not one of them, had the slightest idea how bad his shoulder hurt. To say it hurt like hell would be an understatement. Only the instant he had pulled the bullet out that caused this shit had hurt worse, and then, thankfully he had been able to pass out from the pain.

Now, he and the Tailies, as Sawyer had started calling the newest members of the merry band of Oceanic 815 crash survivors, were hikin' half way across the Island of Mystery. Mike and Jin had taken off on a wild goose chase. Who needed em! Sawyer needed to look out for Sawyer. They were goin' on this little forced march for what? So the Bitch up front could stock up on supplies? Shit! What was it with women and nestin' anyway?

As he plodded along, he kept up the act. Make a few smart-ass remarks. Call Rambina a couple of clever nicknames. Yeah, he could do this. One foot in front of the other, right? How hard could that be? He'd been walkin' his whole life. And lyin' for nearly that long. What was a couple more lies, or rather the same lie?

Yep, Sawyer was a professional liar. How else could he have gotten women and their fool husbands to fork over hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years? Tell the people what they want to hear. He could read people like a book, particularly if they were of the female persuasion.

He turned and grinned at the thin blonde walking next to him. "Nice day for a stroll, ain't it?"

The corners of her mouth barely moved upward and she picked up the pace, leaving him to trudge along behind her.

Damn, what was _with _the women on this freakin' island? Girls back home would be all over this. He'd even flashed her the dimples.

Sawyer shook his head. Come to think of it, what _was_ it with the women here anyway? Sure, he and Freckles had flirted all right, but it'd taken her thinkin' he had the inhalers for her to kiss him. Back home, he had women linin' up round the block to buy him drinks, or fancy clothes, or offer him their husband's millions. And what about Sticks and Mamacita? They'd found their guys all right. Mohammed and the VH-1 reject. Again, Sawyer shook his head.

No, he wasn't about to leave it at that. He picked up his pace to match the blonde woman's. "Hey, what's with Rambina anyway? She always this bitchy, or did I just catch her on a good day?"

The woman – Libby, he thought Mike had said her name was -- just looked up at him with big, scared eyes and walked on faster.

"Where I come from, people answer when you ask em a question," he said to her back.

She turned around and held a finger up to her lips. "Shhh…"

"Did you just _shush_ me?" Sawyer said, incredulous. He turned to look over his shoulder at Bernard who was just behind him. "She just fuckin' _shushed_ me."

By the time he turned around, Ana Lucia was right up in his face. "What did I tell you, Cowboy? No talking!"

Sawyer glared right back at her. "Look, you ain't the boss of me. I'll talk whenever I damn well…" He grabbed the wrist that suddenly shot up, aimed directly at his face. "I told ya, ya hit me again, an' I'll kill ya."

"If you don't shut up, They'll kill all of us." Her eyes never left his, but he noticed her jawbone flexing in and out nervously.

He loosened his grip on her wrist, embarrassed at the red marks left by his fingers. He never should have held her that tightly, she was a woman after all, even if she was a certified Grade A bitch.

Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground. "Ask nicely, and I'll think about it." He gave his head a quick jerk and flipped the hair out of his eyes.

Ana Lucia rolled her eyes. "Fine," Ana Lucia responded angrily between gritted teeth. "Please be quiet."

Sawyer grinned. "That's more like it, darlin'."

She grunted and resumed her spot at the head of the line.

Left, right, left, right. Step after step, Sawyer followed the group toward the coast. The jungle was thinner now with less undergrowth to impede their progress. If they kept it up, they might be able to make it to the shoreline before nightfall, he heard the Bitch say earlier.

What did he care? He shoulda still been on the boat. Hell, no, it went further back than that. He shoulda been home right now, takin' care of his family's unfinished business. If he ever got off this stinkin' rock, he'd sue the ever livin' hell out of Oceanic. He reached for his back packet out of habit. Feeling the letter there, he let out a small sigh of relief. He hadn't even thought of checking for it until now. Damn, that was close. He had carried that letter around for so long, he just _expected_ it to always be there, but to know that was…All that time in the water could have smeared the ink though. He'd check it later to be sure. Not like he didn't know what he'd written, anyhow. He'd memorized every damn word of it, down to the way he had misspelled "killed." Twice.

"Fuck!" A sudden searing pain in his shoulder made him curse aloud.

Almost instantly, the blonde woman stepped in front of him. Her small, dirt-stained hands fluttered over the bloody wound, partly covered by the loose strips of his ragged shirt, as her eyes remained focused on the spot just below his left collarbone.

As her hand made contact with his chest, attempting to pull back the torn fabric, he caught her hand in his. "Shucks, Sugar, I was just throwin' an offer out there. Didn't think that anyone'd take me up on it."

Either ignoring or not hearing his comment, she raised her face to look up at him. "You're in pain." Her forehead was wrinkled with worry and her wide eyes searched his.

"Your name's Libby, right?"

She bobbed her head up and down slightly, but her eyes kept dropping back to the hole in his shirt.

Sawyer forced himself to smile. "I'm fine, Libby. Thanks."

"Please, let me take a look at your shoulder," she pleaded.

"I said, I'm fine," he responded softly, but decisively. The look on her face told him she wasn't going to give up that easy. "Look, when we stop for the night you can take a look at anythin' of mine you want. Deal?"

The spot between her eyebrows was still furrowed, but she meekly nodded. Stepping aside for him to pass her, she followed as they went to catch up with the others who were now several dozen yards ahead.

He gave a small snort at her lack of response to his offer. Sawyer shoots and…misses. Yeah, what was _with _the chicks on this island? If his damn shoulder didn't hurt like shit, he might have spent a little while ponderin' it, but he had more important matters to worry about. Like makin' sure his damn arm didn't fall off. Certain she was at least a couple of paces behind him, he passed the machete over to his left hand, giving a half-swallowed grunt of pain as the weight of the large weapon pulled on his arm. Sawyer quickly lifted up his tattered shirt and peered down at the chasm in his shoulder. No, that didn't look good at all. 

This was definitely not the way things were supposed to turn out. He had left on the raft, partly to get the hell off the damned island and back to civilization so he could track down that dirty son-of-a-bitch and finally make him pay for what he'd done to his folks all those years ago. Yeah, that was it mostly…But partly too…Well, partly cause he couldn't stand the thought of those kids growin' up in that stinkin' place. Polar bears? Weird kidnappin' Canadians like Jungle Boy? Crazy French chicks? No, that wasn't no place for Mike's kid, and certainly not a little baby. Sides he doubted Freckles would have even looked back once she hit dry land. Would have let em all rot while she high-tailed it outta Dodge before the Feds caught up with her.

No, he wasn't no hero. But hell, he _had _gone in the water after the propeller, went for his gun to keep the Gorton's Fisherman and his crew from takin' Mike's kid, and was plannin' on usin' it to keep him and his pit buddies safe from Shaft, and what had that gotten him? Diddly fuckin' squat, that's what. No! Take that back, a fuckin' hole in his shoulder the size of a quarter that now --he leaned closer and took a whiff of the gaping hole--he thought was starting to smell a bit. Well, ain't that just fuckin' beautiful!

Lost in his own thoughts, Sawyer bumped into Bernard and Cindy, who stood motionless on the path ahead of him. Looking up, he noticed that Rambina had her arm raised, her fist clenched in a tight ball. What the fuck? What was with this commando shit? She hesitated for a moment, then turned, and motioned to the group to head toward a large banyon tree that stood nearby.

Libby hustled past him, catching him by the right arm. "Come on. This way." Following the others, she ducked into the thick tangle of roots that formed a makeshift canopy around the base of the tree.

Sawyer winced as his shoulder scraped against the rough tendrils.

They stood there silently for a few moments. Bernard's eyes darted to and fro, scanning the jungle around them, and Libby bit her lower lip.

Sawyer finally shrugged and strode over to Ana Lucia who peered out around the roots into the jungle undergrowth. "So what are we hidin' from, Dr. Kimble?"

"Haven't you been listening to anything we've told you? This is _Their_ jungle. It isn't safe for us."

"And what exactly are _They_ gonna do? Give us a citation for trespassin'?"

She turned and gave him an evil glare, but said nothing.

"Ya plannin' on using that thing," he asked, nodding his head toward the nine-millimeter pistol she held tightly in her hand.

"No, I thought it made a nice accessory for this leather vest," she hissed back at him as she held out her arms. "You know, to complete the whole look. Of course, I plan on using it."

"Might help if ya take the safety off."

"Might help if you shut up, too."

"Look," Sawyer continued, his voice lower, "if ya let me have the gun, I can take these bastards. If they're even out there."

Ana Lucia turned and glared at him. "They're out there all right. And you can forget about getting this," she said, raising the gun slightly. "For all your swagger you've probably never even shot a gun. How else did a _woman_," Sawyer scowled as she emphasized the word, "manage to get it away from you, huh, tough guy?"

Deliberately ignoring the last part of her comment, he raised his eyebrows and thrust out his chin. "Oh, I've shot a gun, all right."

Ana Lucia stood her ground. "Me too. So we're even. Now, if you'd just get back over there," she motioned with her gun toward the group of tail section survivors huddled nervously together.

"Just don't go muckin' it up and ask me to bail your ass out later."

They waited and they waited. Rambina paced back and forth, circling the natural enclosure made by the tree's roots. Nightfall grew closer and everyone else became more restless.

Sawyer settled into a crook in the tree and rested. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Where the hell were Mike and Jin? He could understand that Mike wanted his kid back. But runnin' off into the jungle? There was just no sense in it. The last they saw of his kid, he was on a boat. Mike had headed inland. What kind of fucked-up logic was that? That boat could still be out at sea, or anywhere within a 100-mile range.

They waited quietly for a long while after the rustling noises in the jungle stopped. "Ana, it's got to be over an hour. Shouldn't we start moving?" Cindy asked.

Sawyer listened behind closed eyes. Let them figure it out. He was enjoying the rest. Besides, she had no clue where to go anyway. He was pretty certain they'd been goin' in circles before they stopped. She clearly was no good without her tracker.

Finally, Sawyer couldn't take it anymore. "She's lost."

Ana Lucia turned to Sawyer, and looked annoyed. "I'm not lost."

"Then tell me, Ponce de Leon, which way are we supposed to go?

"Alright then, genius, where would you go?"

Sawyer leaned back against the tree trunk. "Hey, I'm with you – sit tight and wait for Mr. Eko to show up and guide us."

"If your friend didn't run off, Eko would still be here now, wouldn't he?" she answered in her usual snotty tone. "You sure didn't have any problem leaving him behind, though, huh?"

What was she doin' throwin' that up to him? Like he'd told Mike to go runnin' after his kid. Where was Mike anyway? No, he was through with caring. He'd done what he could for Mike, now he had to look out for himself. "Mike only cares about himself and his kid, and neither's got squat to do with me," he answered.

"Glad you feel that way." 

Mike's voice made him snap his head up, and the hint of a smile stretched across Sawyer's face. "Didn't expect to see you again."

Mike! Jin! They were back! He knew he looked like a damned fool sitting there grinnin' like a cat in front of a bowl of fresh milk, but he didn't care. They were back!

It really didn't surprise Sawyer that when he dropped to his knees in the clearing later, Libby was the first one at his side. While he didn't relish the thought of being coddled, there was no pity in the way she treated him. She had helped him earlier, offering him water. He could trust her. Why, he wasn't quite sure, but he knew he could. Again wanting to look at his wound, there was only genuine concern in her eyes.

Why the hell not? Maybe she wasa doctor. He could use one, truth be told. He wasn't going to pretend that his damn arm didn't feel like it was fallin' off. So he had agreed.

"What? You a doctor?" Hey, a guy could hope, couldn't he?

He definitely hadn't expected her answer. "No, a clinical psychologist."

What the fuck? The woman who seemed afraid of her own shadow was a shrink? Great! From the fryin' pan into the fire… "You're a shink? Well, maybe you oughta talk to my shoulder." He gave a forced chuckle.

Then she asked. "How'd you get shot anyway?"

What was he supposed to tell her? Trying to be the hero and protect Mike's kid? He'd failed miserably at that, and now the little runt was God knows where. No, heroes only got credit when they did somethin' right, not fuck it all to hell the way he had. So he gave her the best noncommittal answer he could. "With a gun," he responded flippantly.

"He got shot when they took my kid," Mike's voice answered her just behind him.

Shit! Sawyer dropped his head, embarrassed, and even more ashamed of himself. Damn, the truth hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, didn't it?

When he finally brought himself to return her gaze, he saw no change in her expression. No pity. No judgment. No thinkin' that he was a stupid redneck who was good for nothin'. Just concern. The same thing that had been there before Mike had opened his big mouth.

"It's bad, isn't it?" He wasn't sure he really wanted the answer to that, but before he could stop himself, he had said it.

Her face grew serious, the corners of her mouth tipping downward.

Oh shit! Why the hell and go and ask a fool question like that anyway?

Before he could weasel his way out of it, she continued. "But it's not real bad." She smiled again, making the corners of her eyes squint. "Come on." She patted his leg. "You'll be okay. Let's go."

The pain in his shoulder was worse now and even his bones ached. If they'd left him there, in that clearing, he'd have just lay in the grass and slept the sleep of the dead. He didn't give a rat's ass about the so-called Others, or polar bears, or boars with an attitude. He just wanted to rest. Yet, somethin' about the way Libby told him that he'd be fine made him believe her. He _needed_ to believe her. He _wanted _to believe her. So, he struggled to his feet and pushed on.

Up and down, over and under. The eight survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 hiked and hiked and hiked. The blood was poundin' in Sawyer's ears, and his shoulder was throbbin' so bad he seriously considered using the machete Shaft had given him to just chop of his damn arm right there and then. But, no. He'd suck it up. He would _not_ let em see how bad it hurt. He could do it. Sawyer was good at lying. "I'm fine, I'm just fine." How hard was it to keep sayin' that? What could they do about it anyway?

So, Sawyer trudged along, dragging his feet and his crippled arm with him. He tried to keep up the pretense of being okay, and most of the time succeeded. Didn't take much really. Rambina kept em quiet most of the time, freeing Sawyer's mind up to concentrate on movin' his feet and starin' at the back of the person in front of him.

Whenever his pace slowed, which was frequently, the blonde woman was at his side, wordlessly remaining next to him while he muttered, "I'm fine." Only when his pace again sped up would she resume her spot in line just behind him. When they stopped, which unfortunately was rare, she always made sure he got water and insisted he drink. He'd take it, tip it up, and pass it back to her. Through half-closed eyes, he noticed that she held the container up to her mouth for a few moments, but didn't swallow.

"Drink all you want," Libby said quietly as she passed the water to Sawyer during another one of their rare breaks.

Sawyer stared at her through the long strands of hair that now clung to the sweat on his face. "What? You the Angel of Marye's Heights or somethin'?"

For the first time since Sawyer had seen her when they pulled him out of the pit, she smiled. "No," she began. Funny how her expression changed so much with something so simple as a smile. Even her eyes changed. "You're not going anywhere," Libby finished.

Smirking, he glanced down at the gaping wound in his shoulder. "You wanna lay wager on that, Freud?"

Again, she smiled. "Sure, I'll take those odds. Anyway, I'm not Southern and you're not the enemy."

Sawyer accepted the water and drank deeply, grateful that the cool liquid briefly quenched the fire that now seemed to consume him from the inside out. Wiping his mouth on the back of his right hand, he returned the container to her and grinned. Several strands of hair fell across his face and partly obscured his eyes. "Why don't you just kiss it and make it better then?"

This time he watched her closely, noticing that although she held the open container to her lips, they remained tightly pursed. She wasn't drinking? What the --?

As Libby replaced the cap, she met his gaze. The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile and she definitely had an impish look in her eyes. Swinging the bags over her shoulder as she prepared to resume walking, she finally responded. "If I think you're not going to make it, I'll be happy to oblige."

Sawyer smiled and chuckled. What was it about life-and-death situations that always convinced women to agree to a kiss? He chuckled again. 

As they paused for a brief rest later along the rocky coastline, Sawyer shook his head. Away from the rest of the group, Mr. Eko and the Bitch were having a little discussion, and from the looks of it, Rambina was calling all the shots. How on earth was it that a little sawed-off piece of shit like her bossed around a big guy like Mr. Eko? Maybe the black guy had figured out what all men instinctively knew, but had a hard time doin'…if Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

Sawyer stared out at the sea as Shaft and the Little Colonel continued their rather-one-sided discussion. Let 'em take as long as they wanted. The wind on his face felt good. He ran his hand along the back of his neck, wiping away some of the sweat that was there.

The water container Mr. Eko had given him lay in his lap, empty. "Here, there's some more if you'd like," Libby said.

"Yeah, just a little. Thanks," Sawyer said as he accepted it.

He drank deeply, holding the water in his mouth briefly before swallowing it. "Here," he said as he held the container back out to her.

She took it, and headed back toward Cindy.

"Wait a second," he called, stopping her. "Don't you want any?"

She smiled. "No, I'm fine."

How long had it been since he'd seen her drink somethin'? Earlier that day, at least. Maybe noon. There was no way she wasn't thirsty. It had to be at least 90 in the shade, and they'd been hikin' now for the last day-and-a-half or better.

"Hey, Freud," he called loudly over the whistle of the sea breeze.

She turned toward him, the wind whipping her hair away from her face and tugging at the hem of her dress.

Sawyer motioned to her to come closer.

She passed the water container to Bernard, and walked back to where Sawyer was seated, dropping down onto her knees when she reached his side.

Looking her dead in the eyes, he said in a low voice, "Look, I know what you're doing, and I want you to stop it."

"I don't know what you mean." Her face was expressionless.

Sawyer lowered his head a bit. "You know exactly what I mean. You haven't taken so much as a sip since we stopped back up on that ridge."

"That so?" Again, her face remained blank.

Sawyer nodded. "Yeah. I want to know what kind of crap you think you're pullin'."

"What? You the water police now?" Libby said, the corners of her eyes squinting a bit as she began to form a smile.

Sawyer flexed his jaw and stared out at the ocean. The ocean. The same damn ocean he'd floated on with Mike and Jin…and Walt. The same ocean where they'd taken the kid and shot him in the shoulder.

He finally turned back toward Libby, his eyes narrow and his voice harsher. "I want you to stop it."

Again, she kept up the lie. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Now Sawyer was gettin' pissed. He caught her by the wrist and she gave a small gasp, her eyes widening like they did when she was frightened out in the jungle. "I don't want you not drinkin' cause of me," he ordered. Lowering his gaze, he stared at the gray rock around him. "It's not worth it."

Instantly, her expression changed and she scooted closer to him, dropping her head so she could meet his gaze. Her eyes burned intensely as she stared him down. "Don't you _dare_ say that! Don't you _ever_ say that again!" Her voice softened and she touched his leg. "I told you before, it's not real bad. You'll be fine. I promised. Right?"

Sawyer raised his head slightly, catching her eyes briefly before looking away again. "It's not just this," he glanced down at his shoulder. "You don't even know what…"

Libby reached for him, pulling his chin so that Sawyer again met her gaze. "I know all I need to know, Sawyer." She stared at him, her eyes searching his.

"Libby, there's been a change in plans. Ana Lucia wants to talk to us." Cindy stood several steps behind her.

Libby gave Sawyer another smile and dropped her hand. "I'm coming," she said, pushing herself up off her knees.

The change in plans was that they were going back inland. Sawyer plodded along. This was for him. Why else would they have trekked all the way down to the beach just to turn back inland? Shit! He didn't care what Libby had said. What did she know about him, the real him, anyway?

After telling them he was fine for probably the fiftieth time, Sawyer was grateful when they finally gave up fussin' over him like a bunch of mommas, and let him be. Libby would give a start every time his tread faltered. Her creased brow contrasted sharply with the encouraging smile she'd give him, but, as he'd asked, she maintained her distance. Even Mike, who had conveniently forgotten that Sawyer had saved his life out on the ocean, walked along minding his own business.

Only Jin, the quiet Korean, refused to listen. "I told ya, Chewie," Sawyer said, as the man looped an arm around his shoulders. "I don't need babyin', I'm fine," Sawyer continued as he tried to pull away.

Jin muttered something and pulled Sawyer harder in the opposite direction.

Sawyer gritted his teeth and gave a little grunt of pain. Why was it that everything Jin said sounded like he was pissed off anyway? Deciding that it was probably better to give in than be manhandled any more, he put some weight on the Korean man's right shoulder and continued to shuffle along though the thick grass.

Occasionally, Mike would glance back at them.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Sawyer spat.

Mike just threw up his hands and continued on.

After the raft was destroyed, Sawyer had given Mike CPR. In the eyes of most people he knew back home, that was the same thing as kissin' a guy, even if it did keep the guy from dyin'. Yeah, he had saved Mike and Mike had shot the shark. That made them even, Sawyer figured. He still wouldn't have minded a "thank you" though.

Sawyer stumbled again. Shit! This was gettin' old.

Bernard and Mike both turned to offer to help. Sawyer glared at Mike. "What? You suddenly give a damn about me?" Pulling away from Jin, he continued, "Leave me alone. Both of you. I've got it."

He took a step or two forward on his own, and fell, sprawling out into the thick grass. When he opened his eyes, Mike hovered over him.

"I would have left you behind."

Mike's face was serious. "Shut up, man. Don't try that."

Sawyer tried to focus on Mike's face. "I did leave you behind," he whispered.

Mike smiled. "Yeah, well, good thing I ain't you."

The corners of Sawyer's mouth turned up just slightly before everything went black.


End file.
